


Run little rabbit, run

by MissMarissa



Series: Unexpected Explorations 'Verse [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Consensual Non-Consent, Dark!Bellarke, Dubious Consent, F/M, Forced Submission, Forced submission fantasy, Kink, Mindfuck, Not technically non-con, Really dark, Rough Sex, Violence, and you'll be like "ohhhh", but with resolution in the end, heed the warnings, it'll all make sense, kinda serial killer vibe, not everyone's cup of tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 20:34:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5104844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMarissa/pseuds/MissMarissa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt from Amber: "Run little rabbit, run" for bellarke omg</p><p>[From a list of horror/dark fic sentence starters]</p><p>A creepy/dark oneshot for Halloween week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Run little rabbit, run

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ohalaskayoung](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohalaskayoung/gifts).



> Sooooo this is... rough. Aaaand a little freaky. And some people might hate it. it's out of my "comfort zone" as an author, but sometimes pushing our own boundaries helps us grow, right? Anyway, I promise, there's resolution in the end. And it'll all make sense then. 
> 
> So just sit back and enjoy this dark ride ;)
> 
> **Trigger Warning**  
> Dubious Consent (bordering on actual non-consent at first)  
> Sexual violence  
> Forced sexual acts  
> Regular violence  
> Just... dark  
> but hot
> 
> [See end notes for PSA]
> 
>  
> 
> And thank you to the awesome lady who beta'd this for me, [Amber](http://bilexualclarke.tumblr.com/) (bilexualclarke on tumblr; Ohalaskayoung on AO3)

 

Clarke is… bored. At first, she was elated to have 24 quiet and uninterrupted hours to herself. Her fiancé is out of town, and of course she misses him, but to have no interruptions for a whole day? That sounded fantastic. The freedom in her solitude was almost foreign, but it was beautiful. For about five minutes. So she busied herself: She cleaned, then watched an episode of Scrubs on Netflix. She took a long bath, and even tried dancing naked in the living room. She’s in the mood for company, so she makes plans with Raven to meet up for drinks. She’s due to catch up with her friend, anyway.

Which is why she’s sitting alone at the bar, all made up for a night on the town, when she gets a text from Raven, apologizing because something came up and she won’t be able to make it. Clarke rolls her eyes but figures she’s already here, so she might as well finish her drink. The bartender makes a dangerous Long Island iced tea – the kind that doesn’t even taste like alcohol. And it’s fucking delicious…

Clarke puts her phone back as she glances around at the sparsely populated bar, and her gaze catches on a gorgeous specimen of man. And oh _god_ he’s attractive… He’s the tall, dark and handsome type, with a heated gaze that threatens to undo her right where she’s sitting. The thing is, Clarke is happily engaged. She’s never given a thought to being unfaithful until this very moment, but- now she’s unable to think about anything else. Something possesses her to slip off her engagement ring and stow it away in her change purse. No harm in looking, right? It’s not like she’ll do anything about the beautiful man who is currently eye-fucking her from five seats down.

In a moment of sinful inspiration, she calls the bartender over. She nods toward the handsome stranger, “I’d like to send him another round of whatever he’s drinking.”

The bartender nods with a smirk and walks over to hot guy and pours him another glass of some amber-colored liquor and gestures toward Clarke. Hot guy gives her a once-over that leaves her squirming, and she tries to fight back a blush. She thinks, _okay, flirting done. Got it out of my system. I can leave now._ But then he gets out of his seat and saunters her direction, drink in hand. Everything suddenly becomes very real. Up until now, it was just harmless gazes. But here he is, siding up to her with a sinful glint in his eye and a panty-dropping smile.

“Thanks for the drink.” And _of course_ his voice sounds like sex. She closes her eyes and wills herself not to visibly shiver at his graveled tone. “I’m Damon.” He holds a hand out as he takes the seat next to her.

She takes his hand with a smile, “Clarke.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Clarke.” He takes a sip of his drink, not once breaking eye contact. “Do you come here often?”

Clarke shakes her head, “No, not really. My life is usually a little too busy to be hanging out at bars.”

“Hmm… Busy woman. What do you do?”

Clarke smirks, “Does it matter?”

He shrugs, “I suppose not. What brings you to this fine establishment?”

Clarke looks away with a smile, “I was meeting a girlfriend for drinks, but she bailed.”

“That’s too bad.”

She gives him a sidelong glance, “Yeah… too bad.” She takes another sip of her drink, “How about you – What brings you here?”

He chuckles, “Honestly?”

“Sure. I appreciate honesty.”

“I’m just looking for some company tonight.” He scoots slightly closer, so his knee is touching her thigh, “…of the carnal variety.”

Clarke eyes him, considering her options. Where is the line that she won’t cross? Is there one? There’s something about this man that’s completely irresistible and she thinks she’s pretty sure been lost for him since he first smiled at her.

She throws back the rest of her drink, “Just wanting to show a girl a good time?”

He smirks, “Something like that.”

She brings her lips to the shell of his ear and whispers softly, “You want to get out of here?”

He chuckles with a barely-perceptible shiver, “Fuck yes.”

And that’s how they’ve ended up at his place. Clarke sits on the couch while Damon leaves to retrieve a bottle of wine.  She studies the room and takes note of the many feminine touches: decorative pillows, soft throw blanket, this month’s issue of _Cosmopolitan._   This isn’t quite the bachelor pad that she’d expect from a single guy like him.  Not that she has any room to judge…

He returns bearing a bottle of pinot noir, wine glasses, and a smirk that makes her heart skip a few beats.  She tamps down her arousal. 

Clarke keeps her voice casual, “Who is she?”

He furrows his brows while he uncorks the bottle, “What do you mean?”

She gives him a level look, “Girlfriend?  Wife?” She gestures around the room, “Whose house is this?  This is not the dwelling of a single guy.”

He shakes his head as he pours the wine into the glasses, “She’s not here.” 

“But she’s still in the picture?”

He holds up her wine glass, gesturing for her to take it. “Does it matter?” He echoes her words from earlier at the bar.

Clarke ignores the glass, flooded by a rush of guilt.  She shakes her head, “I’m sorry, I can’t do this.  This was a bad idea.” She huffs a wary laugh as she hides her face in her hands, “I mean, for fuck’s sake, I’m _engaged_.”

He shrugs casually while he sets her wine glass back down on the coffee table, “I know.”

She gapes at him, “Excuse me?”

He chuckles and rests a large hand on her knee, slowly making his way up her thigh. His voice is deep and steady, and she’s actively trying not to be turned on by it, because this needs to stop. “You keep fiddling with an imaginary ring on your left hand.” He glances pointedly at her hand, where she is, in fact, toying with her ring finger. She stills her movements and he continues, “Not to mention, you _look_ like you’re feeling guilty as fuck.  I figured it was something that you’re into.”

Clarke smacks his hand away and stands up to leave with a huff, offended at his appraisal. “Yeah, well, I’m not.”  She shakes her head as she backs away, overcome with shame.  She shouldn’t have come here.  This isn’t like her.  She’s not a cheater.  She storms out of the living room, picking up her purse off the table in the foyer.  Her coat isn’t there, which means she must have left it in the living room.  She searches for her phone so she can dial the cab company, but it’s not in her purse. She remembers it’s in her coat pocket, so she turns on her heel and walks back to the living room to retrieve the rest of her belongings.  She’s taken aback because Damon is no longer sitting on the couch.  In fact, he’s not in the room at all.   _What the fuck?_

By the time she takes the next step, there’s a large hand covering her mouth tightly.  She reaches up to claw at it, but her arms are quickly and painfully restrained behind her back.  

Her whole body shudders at the graveled chuckle by her ear, “You’re a tease, Clarke…”  His hand presses harder over her face, “But you teased the wrong man.”  

She shakes her head, trying to shout through his hand, _LET ME GO!_  But her attempts at speech are completely muffled.  After nearly exhausting herself thrashing in his grip, she finally stops struggling and silences herself. 

His voice is low and even. What sounded so sexy five minutes ago is now completely terrifying in its calmness.  “If I move my hand, can I trust you not to scream?”  

She nods once.

He chuckles and removes his hand.  She sucks in a desperate breath of air and they stand for a moment in silence, her arms still harshly pinned behind her back, his grip on her limbs bruising.  Her mind races with possible solutions to her predicament…  How the fuck is she going to escape this?  Maybe she can turn the tables.  He lured her into a false sense of security and look where it’s gotten her… She relaxes against him with a sigh, which seems to please him.  Much to her satisfaction, his grip on her arms loosens just slightly.  Seizing this window of opportunity, she wrenches herself from his hold.  Her limbs free, she flees toward the front door.  Just a few feet away from her freedom, she sprints faster.  

She’s gripped by a searing pain from her scalp, and just before she snaps her eyes shut, the world tilts on its axis as she falls on her back.  She opens her eyes and all she sees is the dimly-lit ceiling.  Her chest heaving, she wills her racing heart to calm down.  She tries to sit up, but finds she’s unable to lift her head more than a few inches off the ground, so she cranes her neck as much as possible in an attempt to see what the hell is holding her down.  As her gaze travels backward, she sees a leg.  She follows it up to see Damon, looming over her with a wicked smirk.

“I really wish you hadn’t done that…” 

Clarke is ashamed of her whimpers, but can’t help but feel deep down that maybe this is some sort of cosmic justice for her infidelity, even if it didn’t technically get that far. She still _thought_ about it. She hid her goddamn ring. She’s _guilty_ , she tells herself. _I deserve this_ , she cries inside.

The tone of his voice is harsh, “Pathetic.” She feels the weight on her hair let up, but then she’s being jabbed in the ribs by the rigid toe of his shoe. “Stand the fuck up.”

She rolls to her side, then onto all fours, trying to right herself, but she’s apparently not being quick enough about it because his booming voice tears through her, “NOW.”

Clarke rises on trembling legs, hands up in a placating manner in an attempt to look as non-threatening as possible. Clearly, the guy wants docility, and if that’s what’ll keep her alive, she’ll give it to him. “I’m s-sorry!”

He scoffs, “What, exactly, are you sorry for?”

“What—“ She cuts herself off with her own scared whine before she starts again. “Everything. I- I’m sorry about everything.” His silence is crushing in its dissatisfaction, and she cries out in desperation, “W-what do you want me to be s-sorry about?!”

He grips onto her hair again and yanks it so she’s looking him in the eye, “How about being sorry for being a fucking cocktease?”

Clarke nods frantically, “I’m s-sorry for that!” _Tell him what he wants to hear, Clarke, and maybe he won’t hurt you_.

His laugh is laced with malice, “You’ve gotta be more specific for me, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry for be-” she shrieks when he jerks her back with her hair again, “-for being a cocktease!”

He strokes the side of her face with his fingers, gazing at her with a chillingly sweet expression, “I believe you. Do you know how you’ll make it up to me?”

She shakes her head, lips trembling, tears streaming down her cheeks, “H-how?”

He shoves her down to her knees, fingers still tightly tangled into her blonde locks. “Stop. Fucking. Teasing.” He punctuates each word with a tug to her scalp.

She clamps her eyes shut as she tries to swallow the pain that radiates from her knees after the harsh landing, “I-I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!”

He tightens his grip on her hair, “Look at me!” She opens her eyes to find him staring at her with terrifying intensity. “Now, you know what I want.” A glaring jolt of arousal shoots through her at his darkened gaze. _What the fuck, Clarke? This is not a time to be turned on._ He huffs, “Well? Get to it.”

Clarke nods hurriedly, her shaking hands come up to unbuckle his belt as she fumbles on the intricacies of the mechanism. Finally, she unfastens it and moves on to the opening of his pants, but can’t seem to settle on whether to unbutton or unzip first. He bats her hands away, “Jesus, you’re bad at this, aren’t you?”

Clarke halts her hands’ endeavors and glares up at him, “Giving a forced blowjob?”

He laughs, “No, little one. I can’t exactly grade your cocksucking skills when you haven’t given me anything to evaluate.” The condescension in his voice is nothing short of humiliating, “But if I’m being honest, I don’t have high hopes for you there…” She narrows her eyes at his challenge, then quickly reminds herself that, again-, she is _not_ supposed to be into this. He continues, “No, what I was saying is, that you’re bad at taking orders.”

Clarke shakes her head, “I’m sorry. I can do better.” _(Wait, what the-?)_

He taps her cheek with an open palm. It’s not quite a face slap, but the suggestion is there. She understands his unspoken message: ‘Be a good girl and make me happy.’ She can’t help but wonder what it might feel like if he were to actually slap her across the face. If that force was just a little harder. She feels arousal seeping out of her at the thought. _Seriously, what the fuck?_

He chuckles darkly, “…We’ll see.”

She nods and brings her hands back to his pants with more confidence, but he smacks them away again, much to her annoyance. “No. You’re gonna beg.”

She coughs to hide the laugh begging to escape her, “Excuse me?”

He smirks, “Before I let you put your mouth on my cock, you’re gonna beg for it.”

She snorts with a narrowed glare, “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

“Oh, yes it is.” He bends down to whisper in her ear, “I promise, by the time I’m done with you, you’ll be begging for more.”

She shudders, “No. I. Won’t.”

He rolls his eyes, “Fine, then. You wanna play hard to get?”

Clarke shakes her head, “What the fuck are you talking about, you complete and total psycho? There’s no _playing_ here.” She stills her heaving chest and takes a few calming breaths, cursing her tendency to mouth-off, dreading the consequences of her outburst.

He nods, understanding, “Oh, I see what you’re saying. You’re saying you _will_ , in fact, be hard to get?”

Clarke schools her face into a blank expression while her mind races with ~~possibilities~~ circumstances. She refuses to let her arousal color the fucked up nature of this situation. Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with her that makes her so turned on right now? He twists his fist into her hair again, then roughly pulls her into a standing position. His chuckle is genuinely frightening as he releases her hair, and his words send petrified shivers down her spine.

He smiles with bone-chilling excitement, “Then by all means. **_Run little rabbit._ _Run._ ”**

Clarke doesn’t wait for him to change his mind, and sprints for the front door. She attempts to open it, but it’s locked with a key-only lock, so she can’t disengage it. With a desperate cry, she pounds her fists against the heavy material of the door, lamenting the barrier to her freedom. She hears his sinister laugh come closer, so she considers fleeing to the other side of the house in search of the back entrance. There’s a chance that finding the back door will lead to freedom, but locating it might mean crossing paths with him, and that’s a scenario she wants to avoid like the plague.

She slips her heels off, cursing herself for not doing so earlier. One shoe in each hand, she lightly steps across the wooden floor, praying to every deity in the world that the floors don’t creak. Every damn light in the house is off, now. On one hand, it means she can hide more easily. On the other hand, she can’t fucking see where she’s going. Hearing a sound behind her, she turns her head and sees the window curtains flutter, so she bolts away from it. Straight. Into. Him.

He laughs, “That didn’t take long.” She recoils in horror. She steps back and finds herself in a standoff. Muscles coiled, waiting to see who’ll flinch first. She squeezes the shoes in her hands to make sure they’re still there, then throws one past him him, successfully distracting him so she can chuck the other one straight at him. He hasn’t caught her yet, so she makes a run to her right and flees down another hallway. She doesn’t hear him following, which is a little disconcerting, but she keeps running. _Just keep moving._ As she slows down, she hears footsteps coming from around a corner, so she ducks into the first door she finds, only to nearly fall down a flight stairs. _Jesus fucking christ. This psycho has a basement?_ She quietly engages the lock and holds her breath with anticipation as his heavy footfalls slow to a stop just outside the door. Her heart sinks as she hears him laugh.

His smooth voice sends chills down her spine, “Little rabbit... Where are you?” He has to know she’s there. There’s no other reason he’d be standing outside the door like this. “I think you’re close, little one.” She closes her eyes, fights back the tears threatening to fall. After what feels like an eternity of silence, he jostles the door handle, to no avail. She bites back her shriek as he violently shakes the door. She’s legitimately worried that he’ll tear it off its hinges. She doesn’t want to be like the big-breasted blonde in every horror movie ever, so she decides _not_ to go down the stairs into whatever abyss awaits, as tempting as it is to physically distance herself from him. She hears him shuffling something around on the other side of the door.

“Fine, little one.” He chuckles darkly, “Have it your way.” Then he walks off. When the sound of footsteps has disappeared completely, Clarke releases the breath she was holding and relaxes her fingers, then tries to massage away the crescent-shaped dents in her palms. She considers her options. She could open the door, but he might be waiting. Faking her out, making her think he’s not there, just so he can pounce as soon as she opens it. Or, she could wait him out. If he _is_ standing there, surely he’ll make a sound soon.

The silence as she waits is _deafening_. She can’t hear a thing except for the pounding of her heart in her ears. It has to have been at least ten minutes without a sound from him or anything else. She’s glanced down the stairs a few times, but it’s pitch dark down there, and in the movies, bad things happen to people who go to the basement. So, she’ll take a hard pass on that. Just when the tension inside of her seems to ease up, she hears a rustling coming from the darkness. _No. No. No. He can’t be down there, can he?_

Her body goes rigid at the chilling sound of his voice as it creeps closer. “Little one… Are you _still_ hiding from me?” She isn’t going to wait for him to get any closer, so she quickly and quietly unlocks the door and twists the handle, but the fucking door won’t budge. _No._ Silence be damned, she slams her entire body into it, trying to force it open, but her efforts are futile. Whatever he put there is too strong for her to get through.

“Can you hear it?” Clarke doesn’t dare voice _‘what?’_ He chuckles, getting closer with every syllable, “Your heartbeat. It’s racing little one.” Her mind frenetically runs through possible outcomes to this scenario. If she makes a run for it, maybe she can avoid being trapped in the stairwell with him. She has no idea what awaits her at the bottom of the stairs, but she knows if she stays put, it’s certainly game over. So, she bolts down the stairs. When she gets to end of the steps, she stops for a moment and listens for him. She figures if she can hear him, at least she’ll know which direction to run _from_. She realizes her mistake when strong arms constrict her from behind, fully restraining her. She shouldn’t have stopped. She flails her legs around, trying to find purchase anywhere they can do damage, but he skillfully avoids her frenzied kicks. A few low lights come on, and she can see the room around her. It’s a normal-looking basement designed to entertain guests. She sees a small bar on one end of the room, huge couches and an oversized coffee table on the other end, and a pool table off to the side. Oh, and another exit. That’s where he must have come from.

Clarke screams as loudly as she can, “ _HELP ME! SOMEBODY HELP!”_                                                    

He barks out a laugh, “Oh, little one… Nobody can hear you here.”

Clarke openly cries now, her body limp, held up only by his strong grip. Her pitiful whimper is embarrassing, “What do you _want_?”

“I want _you._ I want to take you in every possible way. I want to ravage your body like it’s my last goddamn meal. I want you to be mine.”

She shakes her head with a defeated sob, “But I’m _not_ yours.”

He sighs, “Oh, little one. When I’m done with you, you will _absolutely_ be mine.” She feels cold metal against her skin as handcuffs lock around one of her wrists. He continues, “If you’re a good girl, you won’t be punished.” She tamps down her unexpected disappointment at his words. She’s enduring an inner war between the conflicting feelings inside of herself. When he brings her wrist behind her back to meet her other hand, she feels a shameful gush of wetness gather in her panties, and she’s closer and closer to resigning to the exhilarating feeling of being _taken_ by this man. She tries to twist her body around, but realizes that he’s cuffed her around to some sort of object to keep her in place.

He sees her struggle and gives her a frown of contrived sympathy, “Sorry little one, but I’m gonna have to keep you restrained until I’m ready for you. You have this pesky habit of running away.”

She whimpers, “W-what are you going to do to me?”

He smirks, “Whatever the hell I want.”

She squeezes her eyes closed, trying to visualize her way out of this but finding no options. He gently grips her chin with his thumb and forefinger and she feels her defenses crumble under his touch.

“Kneel.”

She drops to her knees and looks up at him, his dominating form illuminated by the low light coming from the lamps. He smiles kindly, “Now. Where were we? Something about making up for your cock-teasing?”

Clarke nods, “Yes, S-” She stops herself before saying something she shouldn’t. She clears her throat and starts again, “Yes. That’s correct. I was…” She looks up at him, suddenly distracted by the triumphant glimmer in his eyes. She shakes her head, clearing her clouded thoughts. “You wanted me to show you how sorry I am.”

He looks at her expectantly, “Well?”

She shrugs in annoyance, “I can’t do a lot with my hands bound behind me.”

He shakes his head, “I disagree. It’ll be a little bit of a challenge for you, but you seem like the kind of girl who’s down for it.”

“What do you want me to do?”

He scoffs, “You’re gonna beg to suck my cock, and you’re gonna do it using _only_ your mouth.”

She takes a deep breath in and releases it with a sigh. Compliance seems to be the most effective way to deal with him. So, in her own self-interest, she’ll comply. _I’m not doing this because I_ want _to._ If she repeats that enough times, maybe she’ll start to believe it…

She clears her throat, “Please?”

He shakes his head, still looming over her with a smirk, “That was weak. I think you can do better.”

She makes her voice meek and disgusts herself with how easily it comes to her, “ _Please_ , S-” she cuts herself off and starts again, “ _Please,_ may I suck your cock?”  

“Why?”

She frowns, frustrated, “So I can show you that I’m not a tease.” His disappointed silence tells her she’s still not meeting expectations. She can do better. “ _Please_ , just let me make you feel good.”

His laugh is dark, “Jesus, your poor fiancé. He has no idea he’s engaged to such a slut, does he?”

She closes her eyes and shakes her head, “I’m not a slut.” _(Ugh, that wasn’t even a little bit convincing)._

“Really? I think you are.” He laughs with a sneer, “You’re engaged, yet you came home with me, a complete stranger, with the intention of being fucked until sunrise. That sounds like something a slut would do.”

She mumbles, “I’m not _your_ slut.” She immediately wishes she could take back those words, fearing she’s given too much away. There are some things he doesn’t need to know. She narrows her eyes at him and spits, “Fuck. You.”

He chuckles, “Later. You’re gonna suck me first, Princess.” He stumbles a bit over that last word.

She glares at him, “Don’t call me that.”

He raises an intrigued eyebrow, but puts a hand up in a placating manner before he pulls his cock out for her viewing pleasure.

The unabashed groan that escapes her could not be more _mortifying_. He brings his shaft close to her face, and she closes her eyes, savoring this final moment before she gives in completely. Embracing what’s left of her dignity, she opens her eyes and meets his gaze with a challenging glare as she extends her tongue, angling her head so she can lick a strong line down the underside of his dick. She feels a strange satisfaction when she hears his answering moan. She’ll teach him not to question her fellatio skills. _(Wait, what?)._ After wetly tracing the bulging veins of his erect cock, she swirls her tongue around the ring of inner foreskin that’s retracted with his erection.

“Fuck… prin-” he clears his throat, seeming to be cognizant of the fact that her teeth are in close proximity to a body part he would rather she not bite. “You’re really fucking goodat this.” He pulls his member back and she shrugs nonchalantly as he paints her lips with his oozing precum. She takes him into her mouth, closes her eyes to savor his salty flavor, and accepts the inexplicable _tranquility_ she feels inside herself as he fills her mouth. His cock meets the back of her throat and triggers her gag reflex. She blinks back the tears that well up in her eyes while she fights off the choking sensation. She pulls back slightly, but he grips the back of her head in his large hand as he impales her throat, completely unconcerned with her difficulties.

“Holy fuck, your throat feels _fantastic_ around my cock.” He pulls out slightly, giving her a quick chance to breathe, and the strangled sound that escapes her pained throat is quickly becoming a new and very shameful turn-on. She moans loudly before takes her throat again, which seems to surprise him.

He chuckles as he impales her, “Holy shit, you _like_ choking on my dick, don’t you?” After holding himself inside her for a few moments, he pulls back out for her to answer. She closes her eyes and nods, feeling gag-induced tears run down her cheek while saliva dribbles out of the corners of her lips. He smacks the side of her face – again, not hard enough to be considered a _slap_ , but slightly harder than earlier. And _oh fuck,_ now she really wants it.

Her voice is cracked and raspy, “Are you gonna keep teasing me with that hand of yours, or are you gonna actually back it up sometime?”

His eyebrows raise comically high, looking a bit like he’s just won the lottery. “Oh, wow. You _want_ me to slap your pretty little spit-covered face? You are more interesting by the second.”

She glares at him in an attempt to hide the shame she feels for wanting something so… _degrading_.

“You’re a kinky little slut, aren’t you?” She maintains a defiant stare in answer to his stupid (and spot-on) question. He chuckles, “Yeah, you fucking _are_ … Wanting me to slap you… Your eyes practically _begging_ me to fuck your face?” He uses his cock to sweep up the saliva dripping from her lips, and as she closes her eyes in disgrace, she sees a wicked smirk stretch across his face. She feels his _cock_ smack her cheek. Which, _what?_ _Add that to her quickly-growing list of reprehensible desires…_ She opens her eyes and a knowing grin graces his features, “Shit. You’re gonna be so much fun.”

She rolls her eyes, wishing he would just let her focus on her task instead of doing all this talking.  She opens her mouth and takes him back in. 

"Open your eyes and look at me."  She does, and he nearly chokes.  "Fuck, that's so fucking-"  He clears his throat, "That's hot as hell...  Your lips wrapped around my cock like that, stretched around me.  Fuck..."  His voice sounds increasingly strangled, “Is your fiancé uncircumcised, too? Because you sure seem to know your way around an uncut cock.”

She glares at him and pulls her mouth away, “Fuck you. You don’t get to ask questions like that.” She huffs and opens her mouth to take him back, but he stops her.

He smirks with a shake of his head, “Keep that up little one, and you’ll earn yourself quite an attitude adjustment.”

Clarke feels a rush of wetness between her thighs at the thought. She maintains an expressionless (she hopes) gaze at his cock, refusing to grant him the satisfaction of a response to his suggestion. Instead she attempts to covertly rub her thighs together so she can attain _some_ sort of friction to meet the growing demands of the soaked apex of her legs.

Seeing her struggles, he laughs, “Nice try, but _no_.” The asshole kicks her knees apart, effectively denying her the pressure she so desperately needs right now. Instead he crouches down to her level and slips a hand up the skirt of her dress. She gasps as he uses his thumb to move her soaking wet panties away from her pussy so he can sneak his fingers into her folds. He meets Clarke’s hungry gaze with a wicked and knowing smirk. “You’re so. Fucking. Wet.” He brings his sopping fingers to her neck and drags them up to her cheek, cupping her face with unnerving sweetness in his eyes.

Clarke makes some sort of combined whining-sigh noise that leaves her bright red with embarrassment. It’s like she can’t control her reaction to this man. A man she’s supposed to _hate._ She asks herself, _you can hate someone and still want to fuck their brains out at the same time, right_? Yeah. That’s a thing. Duh. It’s called hate sex. She can totally do hate sex.

“You _want_ this, don’t you, little one?”

She shakes her head half-heartedly, but doesn’t dare speak, lest her words belie her feigned reluctance.

“I can see it... The way your eyes lit up when I locked the handcuffs around your wrists... The excited glint in your eye when I called you a slut... You want to be _taken_. Used. _Fucked._ Fucked-with-a-capital-F.”

Her head thinks _no_ but her mouth says _“Please,”_ in a voice so needy she could die of shame.

Clarke closes her eyes and groans, genuinely displeased that she’s so transparent. She reminds herself again that she hates this guy. But _fuck_ if he’s not speaking to something feral inside of her. Fine. She’ll buy into this little game of his. In fact, she’ll do it so well, he’ll never realize that _he’s_ the one playing _her_ game. She opens her eyes and casts a level gaze straight ahead of her.

“Just do it,” she mumbles.

“Oh, little one, do you really think you’ll be just some passive participant?” He tilts his head to the side thoughtfully, “I don’t think so. You’re gonna enjoy the fuck out of this.” He laughs at his own word play. “ _Enjoy the fuck out of this_ … do you hear what I just did there? Because you’ll be _fucking_.”

Clarke rolls her eyes, “Very clever.”

“Does the fiancé know you’re this kinky?”

Clarke smirks, “Who do you think made me this way?”

His gaze becomes predatory, sending excited chills down her spine. Next thing she knows, the handcuffs are gone and he manhandles her into a standing position, then spins her around to face away from him. He gently pries his fingers underneath the edge of the bodice of her dress, then pauses there. His stillness is confusing, and she’s flailing inside because she isn’t sure what’s supposed to happen next. She clears her throat to get his attention, then arches her back so her ass grinds into his cock.

Suddenly, her ears are filled with the distinct sound of ripping fabric as he splits the bodice of her dress right down the middle. She would protest, but the act was so incredibly hot that she’s left wanting more. She whimpers as she writhes against him some more. Her exasperation is clear in her voice, “Well?”

He snorts, “Ask nicely.”

She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, “Please.”

“What do you want?”

She sighs, her hands balled up into frustrated fists, “I want you to fuck me!”

“ _How_ do you want me to fuck you?”

She opens her eyes and turns her neck to meet his salacious gaze, “However the fuck you want.”

Without delay, he rips her dress the rest of the way off, leaving it in shreds at her feet. He destroys her bra in his haste to remove it from her body and makes short work of her flimsy panties, roughly tearing the fabric away from her crotch. She feels him rub them up her side, leaving a streak of evidence of her arousal in their wake.

“Do you feel how wet you are?”

Clarke nods briefly before she feels him stuff her panties into her mouth, and _ohholyshit_ that rouses something primitive and indecent, and she can’t stifle her answering groan. He pulls her back against him and she feels his rock-hard cock dig into her back. She notes that other than his jutting cock, he’s still fully clothed, a fact she finds tremendously exciting. He snakes a hand around her front and parts her folds again, plunging two long fingers into her dripping slit.

He pulls her makeshift gag out of her mouth and asks, “If I kiss your mouth, are you going to bite me?”

She smirks, still facing forward, “I think if I was gonna bite you, I would’ve done it when I had your dick in my mouth.”

He growls as he wrenches her face around so he can take her mouth with his. That’s really the only way she can describe it. It’s not a kiss. It’s an indisputable act of domination, plundering her mouth like he owns it, and it leaves her aching with need. She feels the last of her resistance vanish as he attaches his mouth to her neck to leave bruising kisses against her flesh.

His lips graze the shell of her ear, “I’m gonna fuck you so good…”

Clarke’s knees start to buckle underneath her and she realizes he’s holding her weight up with his free arm under her breasts. She wishes her legs were a little more functional, then maybe he’d use that hand to play with her nipples instead. If she brings her own hands to pleasure herself, it will confirm for him exactly how into this she is. He’ll know that _he’s won_. However true that may be, she’ll withhold that detail from him as long as she can. She lets her arms continue to dangle by her sides while he continues his relentless (riveting) assault on her pussy.

Fuck it.

Her hands dart up to brazenly pinch and pluck at her own nipples. She relishes the sharp sensations as they go straight to her throbbing clit.

He releases a delighted laugh when he sees Clarke fondling her own tits, “Fucking _knew_ it!” He escalates his attentions to her cunt, filling the room with the wet suckling sound of his fingers as they plunge in and out of her.

Clarke’s response is a wanton groan. She’s long past the point of feeling awkward or self-conscious about her _needs_.

“Admit it and I’ll let you come.”

She feels herself scowl, “What if I just come anyway?”

“You’ll fucking regret it… Don’t test me, little one. Just admit it.”

Not wanting to push those boundaries just yet _(wait, what does she mean, ‘yet?’)_ , she sighs, exasperated. “What do you want to hear?”

“Admit you’re a slut who wants me to _fuck her_.” He accents the last two words with powerful thrusts of his fingers inside of her.

She cries out, “ _Please!”_ Seemingly dissatisfied with that response, he slows down his ministrations and begins to pull his hand away, so she grips desperately onto his forearm with a pitiful whine. “I’m a slut who wants you to fuck her! Now _please,_ fuck me!”

He returns his fingers to her heat, cupping her with the heel of his palm on her clit and his fingers plunged deep into her pussy while he practically _vibrates_ his hand against her and _within_ her. He winds her up and fills her to the brim with a delicious tension. And holy _fuck_ she’s done for.

His voice is a thick growl against her ear, “Come for me.”  

That exquisite pressure that’s been coiling deep inside of her is _finally_ free… She feels her body fall apart as she succumbs to a flood of euphoria. She comes back to reality as the aftershocks of her orgasm begin to subside, and she opens her eyes to see _him_ looking down at her with a carnivorous expression that sends a thrill right through her.

He brings his wet fingers to his mouth and cleans them while he gazes salaciously at her

Licks his fingers, “You taste like you wanna get fucked.”

She nods with a drunken smile, “Mmm hmm.” 

He chuckles ominously and grips her upper arm in his large hand and makes for the only closed door in the basement. He’s walking so fast that he’s practically dragging her with him, but she can’t complain when she’s equally as eager. The door swings open with a loud crash that she’s certain has left a hole in the wall, but that’s the last thought she can spare for the drywall when he forcibly pushes her toward the bed. She trips over her feet on her way across the room and lands face first in the mattress. She pushes up on her forearms and is met with a stinging slap to her ass.

He nods toward the pillows, “Move farther up.”

Clarke rises to all fours and crawls until she’s in the center of the mattress. She spreads her knees wide and looks back at him over her shoulder, biting her lip shyly. And he’s _eating it up._

He kneels between her open legs and lines himself up with her entrance. He teases her slit with the head off his cock, getting her more and more worked up. “Just fuck me already!”

His laugh is menacing as he wraps his hand around the back of her neck, pushing her face down into the mattress while he plunges into her in one brutal thrust. She cries out, relishes how suddenly _full_ she feels now. Much to her deep annoyance, he stills himself inside of her. So, she squeezes her thighs tightly together while she jerks her hips against his in an attempt to provoke him to move. Instead, he grasps a fistful of hair from the crown of her head and pulls viciously, wrenching her head up so he can growl into her ear, “I’ll fuck you when I want to fuck you. Now cut that shit out, or I won’t fuck you at all.”

She raises an eyebrow, “But then how would _you_ get to come?”

He smirks as he releases her head but maintains eye contact, “I guess I should clarify. I’ll fuck one of your other holes instead.” Clarke’s entire body shudders at the thought… He huffs, “I’ll come inside you one way or another. I’ll fill you with my cum, sweetheart. Anywhere and everywhere I please. So, I’ll advise you to remember, it’s up to _you_ how much you enjoy it.”

She groans, “Yes, Si-“ She’s got to stop with the “Sir” shit. This guy doesn’t get to be called ‘Sir.’   She lets herself go slack against the mattress while he ravages her back and neck with biting suckles and kisses that she knows are leaving copious marks all over her. And yes, that is something she is _absolutely into._ He thrusts relentlessly into her and she loses coherence. She’s not even sure how long he’s been fucking her. She feels her arms flailing as her fists anchor themselves in the sheets, giving her some leverage so she can move more easily with him. Her orgasm sneaks up on her without warning and her whole body shakes as he grasps the flesh that pads her hips and crushes her into him. He’s buried deep inside of her while she pulsates around him.

“Your pussy is fucking incredible, Clarke." She glances over her shoulder at him and studies his face as he concentrates on his next task. Without warning, he flips her over. Still kneeling, he spreads his knees apart to widen his stance. His cock is hard as granite as it juts out, shiny with her nectar. He sneaks his hands under her ass and roughly raises her hips up to meet his. She instinctively wraps her legs around him as he pulls her onto his cock, drawing a lecherous cry out of her with the new angle. While he thrusts forward, she tightens the grip of her thighs to leverage herself against his body, rolling her pelvis with ease in a delicious motion that has her quickly falling apart at the seams.

Clarke can’t seem to verbalize a coherent sentence, but this guy is certainly not having any difficulty with words. “Come on, I wanna feel you come on my cock.” All she can do is nod a whimper while his words continue to stroke the most debauched parts of her brain.

“Did you like coming on my fingers earlier?” Clarke moans, nodding frantically in the affirmative. “I couldn’t fucking _wait_ to get inside you. And now that I’m here? _Fuck_ you’re perfect.” He keeps going, “I fucking _loved_ when I buried myself deep inside you while your cunt clamped down around me.” They continue to thrust against each other, chasing an enthralling release through one another.  

Then he switches it up again. He drops her hips so her back is flat against the mattress. He hooks his hands behind her knees and wrenches her thighs up until they touch her ribs, her knees caging her breasts while her calves dangle. He braces his weight on the backs of her thighs, forcibly holding her open while he ravages her, fucks into her with lusty abandon…

“I’m gonna come deep inside of you… So. Fucking. Deep.” Unrecognizable sounds are escaping Clarke as she’s being ravaged. “Okay, COME for me! NOW!   I need to feel it.”

She cries out, _“Bellamy!”_ And just like that, she’s exploding around him. The pleasure surges through her, like it’s detonating her into a million pieces and his unyielding touches seek to put her back together again… She feels him pulsing inside of her, holding himself still and depositing his seed deeply inside.

She can’t fucking _wait_ until the day they’ll finally be able to actually try to make their baby. Because this is exactly what he’ll need to do. The thought of her form, gravid with his child, fills her with excitement. Her chest heaving, she finds herself enveloped in Bellamy’s strong arms. She smiles as she collapses into his warmth.

“Oh my god, Bellamy... That was… amazing.”

He laughs, a little winded, “Yeah?”

Clarke leans into him, “I’m glad you picked up my hint.”

Bellamy shakes his head with a laugh, “Just plain old role play wasn’t enough for you, huh?”

She shrugs, “Well, the original “sex with a stranger” idea was hot, but once we were at the house, and I realized that we had it all to ourselves, I thought it was a good opportunity to put up a little bit of a fight. I wasn’t sure if you’d pick up my hint or not.” Clarke laughs softly, then looks up at him, “Are you okay, Bell? Was it too much?”

He huffs, “Almost.” He scrubs his hand over his face, “There were a few times when I was genuinely freaked out by how terrified you looked. Like, I considered calling it myself, but then I’d see that glimmer in your eyes and I could tell you were still into it.”

She nods gently, “I would’ve called my safe word if it was going too far. I promise.”

He smiles, “Good.”

She laughs softly to herself.

He asks, “What’s so funny?”

“I was just thinking about when you told me your name at the bar, I was seriously worried you were gonna say ‘Burt Macklin’ or something ridiculous. Then it would have been totally ruined.”

Bellamy laughs, “I won’t lie, I considered it.”

She smirks, “I know you did. But for the sake of the whole role play thing, I’m glad you didn’t. Damon was a sexy choice. I didn’t expect it, but it works.”

He nods, “Good.” After a few moments, “What did you like about tonight?”

She shrugs with a reminiscent grin, “There were a lot of things I liked. It was… exhilarating being chased around the house, and when I let myself think I was truly in danger, the rush was unbelievable. That being said, it was hard as hell to fight my natural instincts. Like, when you told me to beg to suck your cock, I had to actively remind myself to act like I didn’t want to.

He smirks, “But you did, didn’t you?”

Clarke curls into him, “You know I did.”

“For the record, you were still fucking awesome at it. Even under duress.”

She shoots him a raised eyebrow, “Don’t pretend you didn’t find the struggle hotter.”

He tilts his head, “It’s a rush, that’s for sure.”

“What else did you like?”

He gazes down at her, greedily raking his eyes over her nude form, shining from the thin sheen of sweat that covers it. “Ravaging you. Just getting to… take you. In such a primal way.”

Clarke feels her heart speed up a bit, “Yeah that was something special. I felt like I was being _consumed_ by you, in the best possible way.”

Bellamy trails his fingers along the bare skin of her back, “So it was good?”

Clarke nods with a knowing grin, “Oh yeah. It was good.”

“Hey, and we christened our newly-renovated guest room.”

“True. I’ve gotta say, the crew you hired did an awesome job transforming this concrete and bare studs room into something worthy of a bed and breakfast joint.”

“This bed is pretty nice, too. Our guests will be sleeping in style. Or comfort. Whatever.”

Clarke snorts, “On a bed we fucked in.”

Bellamy laughs, “Yeah, we should probably wash the sheets.”

Clarke wraps her legs around his thighs, and snakes her arms around his torso, squeezing herself tightly against him. “Only if you can pry me off of you.”

He smirks, “I suppose I can be convinced to cuddle for a while.”

She burrows her nose into the crook of his neck, leaving a gentle kiss before there resting her head back on his shoulder. “I love you, Bellamy.”

“Love you, too, Clarke.”

**Author's Note:**

> I feel compelled to note for anyone reading: this is CONSENSUAL non-consent. Clear boundaries were established long before it happened. Rape fantasy is surprisingly common. If you haven't talked to your partner IN DETAIL about such fantasies, DO NOT (I repeat, DO NOT) attempt to engage in it. There's a phrase for edge play (like this) in BDSM: **_It's a fine line between a great BDSM scene and a crime scene._ ** Goes doubly true for this. 
> 
> Also, Clarke's inner monologue is _not_ an example of someone actually being raped or sexually assaulted. If you're thinking of sexually assaulting someone: First: FUCKING DON'T. Second: don't assume for even a minute that someone would be into this sort of thing. Or that you could play this kind of game without clear boundaries. For people who think that planning it ahead of time takes the "surprise" element out of it, you need to be creative. Again NEVER EVER _ASSUME_ THAT SOMEONE WANTS TO BE "TAKEN" LIKE THIS. If this isn't done "right" it can cause lasting damage to the psyche. 
> 
> For Bellamy and Clarke, this whole idea started a long time ago - you can bet that she and Bellamy had a long and detailed discussion about what they'd be into, what drives her motivation for even fantasizing about it. So, Bellamy constructed/orchestrated the whole concept way ahead of time based on the boundaries they both set in that conversation. It was just a matter of finding the right time to engage. 
> 
> Actually, you know what, here's my advice: **JUST DON'T DO IT.** There. Read about it, 'cause that's fun and kinda hot. But really, don't do it. [Now if any of you people try to fantasy rape your significant others and fuck everything up, I have it in writing: **THE AUTHOR OF THIS FIC SPECIFICALLY SAID DON'T DO IT.** ]
> 
>  
> 
> Come talk to me on [tumblr](http://missemarissa.tumblr.com/) (MissEMarissa). 
> 
> And again, shout out to the lovely [Amber](http://bilexualclarke.tumblr.com/) (bilexualclarke) [ohalaskayoung on AO3] for her awesomeness :) 
> 
> *****
> 
> I'm really curious as to what you guys think of this. There aren't an abundance of dark bellarke fics, so I feel like I'm kinda taking you guys out of your element. It's out of my comfort zone, as a writer. I aimed to make it non-traumatizing by wrapping it up neatly at the end. 
> 
> *****
> 
>  **Fun fact:** Bellamy's fake name,  "Damon" was actually carefully chosen. It has a story behind it. It means "to tame." (And is that not what he's trying to do here? Tame a defiant Clarke?) 
> 
> It's also mythology-related: In Greek legent, Damon was a loyal friend of Pythias; when Pythias got in trouble and was sentenced to death, Damon took his place in prison to give some temporary 'free time.' Damon was scheduled to be executed in Pythias' place, but Pythias returned just in time. The king was so impressed by their loyalty to each other that he pardoned Pythias and they were both free. 
> 
> Learn something new every day :)


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